The Correctional Facility
by Sugarflier
Summary: When Barry Savage, a young breeder in training, is convicted of a crime he didn't commit and incarcerated for it, it obviously doesn't sit too well with him. So, armed with nothing but too much passion and determination, he decides he's going to survive the vicious underworld that he has been thrust into, no matter what.
1. The Punchline

The Correctional Facility

Chapter One

The Punchline

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Author's Note : Hello there! And welcome to The Correctional Facility! This is my second serious fic, and it ties in with my first, Shedding Skins. One is not required to read the other, however. You can read and comprehend this without reading Shedding Skins and vice versa, so don't be put off by that. Anyway, I'm trying a different approach to the world of Pokemon than I did in Shedding Skins, so, please, enjoy...

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This story doesn't start in the middle of a totally normal day. It doesn't start with me waking up late and rushing down to eat a hasty breakfast before going to wherever I'm meant to be and receiving my very first Pokemon. It does not start with how I had other plans for my life and how I reluctantly became a trainer. No, this story doesn't start like that.

No, instead, this story starts with a right cross to my face. Things went dizzy. Something hard slammed into my hands and knees. Oh, wait, other way around, I was the one who had slammed into something hard. 'Something hard' turned out to be the ground. I blinked hard, twice, trying to get my vision back to normal. There was a red puddle on the stainless steel floor that I was looking at. Then something fell and added to the puddle. It had fallen from my burst lip. I was bleeding, quite a bit.

I thought about how I had gotten myself into this situation. Well, I hadn't gotten myself into anything, other people had. I had just been dragged into all of this for no reason. No reason at all, and that did not make me happy.

Back in the real world, that had been one hell of a punch.

546. 397. 601.

All greys.

My vision was back to normal. Things weren't blurry anymore. Things weren't dizzy anymore. I was ready.

"Hey, 721," 546 sniggered. Medium height, medium build. That fucker wouldn't be laughing for long.

I launched onto my feet. Not like I suddenly snapped up, standing straight and proud. It was more like I dived at him while stumbling and still sort of hunched over, not yet up to my full height. That wasn't a problem, however. If I was standing up to my full height, this attack wouldn't work. I pulled my fist back and threw it forward, straight ahead of me. I landed a full force punch to the nuts.

While 546 bent over, grabbed his balls and fell to the side, I took the opportunity to stand up to my full height.

601 was in front of me before I knew what was happening. Tall, slim, but not skinny. He threw a right hook. Strong enough, but a little too slow. I ducked to my left, under his punch and pushed him. He didn't weigh much, it sent him a few feet away and onto his back. It would be a few seconds before he was up and swinging again.

397 caught me off guard with a punch to the ribs. He was shorter, and, while not heavily built, was more so than the other two. My hand went to my side and I doubled over slightly. That punch had not hurt as much as I had anticipated. While stronger than either of the other two, 397 couldn't throw a very good punch. He pulled his hand back for another punch, but I was quicker. He was right up close to me, so I snapped my head forward and crushed his nose with my forehead. There was a miniature explosion and we suddenly both had his blood all over our faces. He hit the floor like a sack of bricks.

For a three on one fight, I was doing remarkably well.

Then 601 swung the chair into my back. He had been quicker than I expected getting up. It did not break. This wasn't a flimsy little wooden chair, this was a steel chair. Steel, like almost everything else in the building, including the aforementioned floor. The pain in my back was horrible. I felt like screaming, but I managed to hold it in. I didn't realize that I was on my hands and knees again until 601 soccer kicked me in the face. His foot made contact with my nose and mouth at once. There was suddenly a lot of blood in my mouth and throat, and I had no idea where it was coming from.

Things were dizzy and blurry again - and, most importantly, painful - before I realized I was no longer even on my hands and knees. I was lying on the cold steel floor.

Another brief pause to think. The judicial system was shit. It was really their fault. Along with whatever bastard had decided to carry out the action. If he hadn't done that, then I wouldn't be here. If the system worked right, I wouldn't be here either. It was their fault.

My thinking was cut short by a foot to the gut. It was incredible how much thinking you could get done in such a short time frame. But anyway, the foot to the gut wasn't really a kick, more of a stomp. I scrunched my eyes shut, sort of doubled over while lying on the ground, coughed and sent blood and spit flying out of my mouth. The blood hadn't came up, it had already been there from my burst nose and lip.

I had been hit only five times and I already felt like my entire body was broken. It didn't take advanced reasoning skills to figure out that my beating was far from over. I didn't even want to think about how I would feel when it was over.

So, once again, I thought. Really just bad luck and circumstance. Nothing but circumstantial evidence, lack of solid evidence and a very angry general public. Oh, and a scarred, broken girl and an innocent, incarcerated boy.

Thankfully, that turned out to be the length of the beating. Two punches, two kicks - well, one was technically more of a stomp - and being hit with a chair once.

601 raised his foot for another stomp, but he was pulled back. At first I expected a member of staff, but then I remembered that they didn't care about us enough to stop a beating.

Number 644. Kevin Shields. After only a few days here, I already knew who he was. He was in here for charges of assault or battery or whatever it was officially called. In short, he had kicked the utter piss out of people. No one knew very much else about him, other than the fact that he could fight like no one else had ever seen before.

Kevin grabbed 601 by the back of his t-shirt, jerked him backwards, away from me and physically threw him into the nearest wall. Again, stainless steel. Ouch. 601 hit it face first, broke his nose on it and collapsed in a heap on the ground. Kevin raised one foot and stomped on his ribs. I heard a sharp crack. Kevin made it look easy. Really, his strength was almost superhuman.

He walked slowly back to me, roughly kicking 397 in the stomach on the way. I did not want to be there at that moment in time. I saw him coming, thoroughly confused. Why he had joined the fight was utterly beyond me. All I knew was that a slightly older boy with muscles reminiscent of a pro wrestler and long, straggly brown hair was casually strolling towards me after physically throwing another boy.

If he decided to continue this assault, I was screwed. I was medium height, medium build. Maybe fitter than most people because of my affinity for athletics, but I wasn't built like a bloody marine. Not even close to the size Kevin. I was very much still normal.

He stood over me. The cotton t-shirt that we were all forced to wear was stretched tight on him. Black. That wasn't good. Our clothes were color coded - white was least concern, grey was moderate threat and black was serious criminal. His was like a second skin, outlining every detail of his grotesque muscles. He reached down, grabbed a handful of my t-shirt and helped me up. Wait, what? I wasn't going to get murdered?

Unfortunately, my body did not want to let me stand. After he helped me to my feet, I immediately fell against the nearest wall. I managed to hold myself up. My stomach ached. My ribs were a little achy too. My back felt totally broken. My face felt numb in places and sore in others. I felt dizzy. But, I managed to hold myself up.

"I'm Kevin," Kevin introduced himself, offering his hand, totally unaware that it was not news to me.

"I know," I replied, shaking his hand - which was a considerable feat when you take into account that both my hands were previously being used to support myself. I did not like it when his fingers closed around my hand. He could have crushed my hand like paper had he wanted to. "Barry," I introduced myself in turn. I then realized that I couldn't speak properly because of the my nose, the blood in mouth and my swollen lip. He could make out what I was saying anyway, so not like it mattered.

"You don't seem that bad. You shouldn't be a black," he opined, noticing the color of my top and bottoms. Idiot, he had known me for all of five seconds. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," I answered honestly.

"You're in here, aren't you?" He didn't buy it. He thought I had done something. You see, here, I had a dilemma, because Kevin was known for being unruly and aggressive. I could maintain my lie, but he wouldn't buy it, then he might get mad and break my face. I could tell him what I was technically in here for, but he would think I was a piece of scum, then he might get mad at that. Or, I could tell him the truth and he wouldn't buy it. Then get mad and break my face.

It looked like my face was going to get broken either way, so in the end, I told him an abbreviated version of what I was technically in there for.

"I'm in here for rape," I grumbled, wiping blood from my face, acting like that wasn't a big deal. I did not want him to know that I was feeling scared or nervous. Kevin was a psychopath, I did not want a psychopath to know that I was scared. Even a psychopath that was being nice to me.

He gave a deep laugh. Wait, what?

"Ah, nothing, I get it," he replied, continuing to laugh.

"What?" I asked, perplexed. In hindsight, it would probably have been smarter to just shut up and go with it, but I spoke without thinking, as I do sometimes. As everyone does sometimes.

"I get it, you're in here for nothing. Rape's a myth." He was no longer laughing, but the smile was still on his face. He thought I had made a joke. A rape joke. Wow. What a piece of shit. Then again, a piece of shit that had defended me. Which, by the way, was still a mystery to me. Why had Kevin helped me out? "And I liked that fight by the way," he went on. "If you were just a little quicker, that would have been yours. Three on one, not many people could do that," he went on. So maybe that's why he helped me? He was into fighting and everything. He wasn't just a brawler, Kevin had been trained to fight in more than one way, and that was common knowledge in the Facility.

"I guess," I replied, wiping more blood from my face.

"Heh, your face is as red your hair," he joked, nudging me with his elbow. Ow. I had just been punched in those ribs. Still, I did not let my pain show. Even after so little time there, I knew that weakness would not go down well in the Facility.


	2. The Pretender

The Correctional Facility

Chapter Two

The Pretender

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In the Facility, there were two inmates to a cell. You might think that's quite a luxury, two people in a whole room, but the cells were tiny. Two beds that were less comfortable than the floor, and a foot of space between them. There was practically no other free space in the cell at all. Not even a toilet. No, we got to use the bathroom when he had meals, and only then.

Life in the Facility goes like this. Wake up at seven. Eat a vile breakfast. Exercise. Eat an equally vile lunch. Work. An even more vile dinner. Shower. One hour of leisure time in your cell. Lights out at twelve.

We got too little sleep, too little food, too little mental stimulation. A small portion of the inmates in here were even driven to insanity. If you were ever seen alone, then God help you. Guards would beat the utter piss out of you. The inmates could do a whole lot worse if they caught you alone. Pretty much what had happened to me with 601, 546 and 397, but I had been lucky.

So, a few days later, when my injuries had subsided to the point where it was bearable, I was awoken by screaming. This wasn't a scream of terror or pain. It was like a scream of both, with something else that I couldn't even identify thrown in. I looked to the bars of my cell.

Enter Jameson Silver. Forty years old, this guy was built like fucking Adonis. Not only was this guy built, but he was bloody tall. Like, freakishly tall. The man was nearly seven feet tall, with the muscles of a wrestler. Jameson was gigantic. The body he possessed was one capable of enormous leverage. His brown, military style hair was greying in places, and he had the kind of face that just said 'I hate you'.

On this particular morning, he had dragged one of the whites out of his cell and started terrorizing him. Whites. The easiest targets. He grabbed a handful of the boy's hair then slammed his face into the bars of his cell. The boy fell to the floor and Jameson started kicking him. Blood was flying everywhere, and by the time Jameson stopped, the boy was no longer moving. He had probably spoke out of turn or something equally as trivial, but Jameson would latch onto any excuse. He was a big believer in using fear as a weapon.

Yeah, typical morning in the Facility.

My room mate was just a random grey that hadn't even woken up yet. He was an embarrassment. A fat, snoring slob that was currently drooling all over the brick-like bed. To this day, I still don't know his name. I know his number, though. 722. Just one after me, hence his placement in my cell.

"Breakfast!" Jameson bellowed. Despite the size of the place, his voice managed to reach everyone. The regular guards, at Jameson's order, started going around and unlocking the cells. There were just over seven hundred inmates in the facility, but we weren't all held in the same places. There were multiple dormitories, cafeterias, work yards, gyms and showers. In our cell block, there were only around a hundred of us. You might think that if we were allowed out at the same time, that would be enough to start a riot, but there were a lot of guards, all armed with tasers, pepper spray, batons and I don't even know what else. We weren't stupid enough to try anything, we would get ourselves killed. The Facility was more than equipped to deal with us.

I was waiting by the entrance to my cell when the guards came around to unlock it. My room mate was still not awake. The thing is, I could have woken him up, but I didn't want to look like a nice guy. Not here. No, I wanted to look like the psychopath that everyone thought I was. I needed to be intimidating. I wanted to survive.

"Out." That was all the guard said to me. I did as I was told. As I was walking away, however, I looked back to my cell. The guard took out a collapsible baton and, before he expanded it, slammed it down into my room mate's torso, just below his sternum. He let out a strangled wheeze and curled into a ball. The guard expanded the baton and started hitting him, despite his wheezy protests - the first strike ensured that he couldn't scream. I stopped paying attention and worked on getting to where I was supposed to be.

I walked down the corridor to the cafeteria alongside some other inmates, but didn't speak to any of them. I wasn't coming across as shy or awkward, though. No, I couldn't be having that. Instead, I was giving off the impression that I just wasn't interested in the rest of them, like they weren't worth my time. Pretty much the way I had come across since arriving at the facility. It had still only been a matter of days.

Eventually, we arrived in the cafeteria. Again, this was a stainless steel affair. The chairs, tables, floor, walls, trays, everything. All was stainless steel. I sometimes thought that it was just to remind of how impenetrable the Facility was.

Since arriving here, I had just sat alone during breakfast, lunch and dinner, steadily eating my meals like they didn't taste of puke. This time, however, something different happened. Kevin waved me over.

"Hey, Savage," he greeted me as I neared the table. How he knew my name was not known to me, nor did it particularly interest me. I didn't care. I knew his.

"Hey," I replied with a nod. I took notice of the boy sat beside Kevin. He was a tall, skinny guy with not much meat on him, which immediately made me wonder how he was still alive in here. Well, until he turned around. It was his face, really, that stopped me from wondering. He had a skinny face with sharp features. Pale skin and blue eyes shielded by rectangular, trendy glasses. He had a buzzcut -his hair was essentially a coating of black stubble on his scalp. This was an impassive face. This was a face that told you not to fuck with him. He may have been more physically frail than most of the guys in here, but I immediately got the feeling that if I crossed him, I would regret it. Maybe not immediately, but eventually, this guy would get his own back. I just knew this guy was intelligent. Perceptive. Calculated. "Barry," I introduced myself to this new guy.

I wanted to stay to myself in the Facility, but I was hardly going to turn away a friend of Kevin Shields. That guy could break me in half, and new guy would probably end up plotting my demise if I pissed him off anyway. There are times when you have to show that you've got bigger balls than the other guy, but there are also times when you have to submit and do what the other guy says if you want to stay alive.

"Damian," he replied, turning around a little more and giving me a nod. On his top - which was black, I didn't miss that - was the number 723. Only two more than my own number. He had come in on the same bus as I had. He was just as new to this place as I was. I noticed his eyes flicking to the number on my t-shirt too. He had noticed, just the same as I had.

We locked eyes for the briefest of moments, as if to tell each other that we had noticed the same thing, that we each knew the other was in the same situation, then I took a seat on the other side of Kevin.

"This is the guy that near enough castrated Phil," Kevin told Damian through a mouthful of the sludge that passed for breakfast here. Wait, who had I castrated? Who was Phil?

"Phil's a dick," Damian commented. "And worse than that, he's an idiot," he added, before taking a spoonful of sludge. I got the feeling that Damian did not suffer fools gladly.

"Who the fuck's Phil?" I asked. I was a little confused. I don't remember castrating anyone any time recently.

"547," Kevin elaborated. Oh. Oh, I see. "Remember? You punched him right in the balls while he was gloating?" Kevin burst out laughing, banging the table with his fist. It caused some people at the table to spill their sludge, but like anyone was going to pick a fight with Kevin Shields.

"That must have been some punch 'cause he's in the infirmary at the moment," Damian informed me with a cruel smirk on his face. Oh shit. The infirmary. The staff here don't particularly care about us, so if you're hurt enough to require medical attention, that's a bad thing. You don't get sent to the infirmary for anything short of broken bones, so if this guy was in there, he was hurt. Hurt enough that it was actually less hassle to the staff if they had their medical staff attend to him.

"Sounds like he'll never be a daddy," I grunted nonchalantly, eating more of my sludge. It tasted like cardboard put in a blender.

"I love this guy!" Kevin banged the table and burst into raucous laughter once again. Really, I wasn't funny at all. What was with this guy?

"Well that's a first," Damian commented with mock surprise.

"I feel special," I commented dryly. The other two gave a chuckle.

"So what you in here for?" Damian asked me. I had been through this with Kevin already, but this time wasn't nerve wracking. Damian wasn't liable to put me in the infirmary if he so decided.

"Rape," I answered casually, taking another mouthful of food - I did that whenever I wanted to look casual, although I probably thought it was much more effective than it actually was. I felt like a piece of scum saying it, however. I sounded almost proud of my fabricated crime. "You?"

"Murder," he replied, equally as casually. Wow. Okay. I knew there people like that in here, but it was still hard to take in. It took all of my self control not to openly show my shock, fear and disgust. Regardless, it probably showed at least a little on my face, and Damian was not the kind of person to miss something little, that much I knew already. He would notice so much as a twitch.

"Wow!" Kevin burst out, grinning. "Who? And how?" I noticed that he didn't ask why. Kevin was only interested in the victim and method. He was only interested in the violence. Anyway, that was far too personal a question, and one that would not usually be answered. Kevin Shields was asking the question, however. He was being friendly just now, but he could turn in a second. The boy was unstable. Extremely unstable.

"My uncle. He was steaming. I put broken glass in his vodka. He swallowed it." I noticed that he did not say why because he hadn't been asked. Only telling what he was asked. Damian was very cold and emotionless about this. Like it was no big thing. Like he was telling you the weather forecast.

"Why?" I asked. Damian would have probably told me to fuck off, but Kevin was there too, and it was best to just say rather than risk pissing off that beast. I knew this, I was taking advantage of this, Damian knew it and I knew he knew it.

"He touched my little cousin," he informed me with an almost imperceptible leer. This was the kind of look that Kevin would remain totally oblivious to, but that I would have spotted a mile away. And I did.

Neither Kevin nor I had to ask him to elaborate.

"Rape though? Who? How? Why?" Damian asked me, also taking advantage of Kevin's presence. If I said I wasn't telling him, it also meant I wasn't telling Kevin, and that might make Kevin mad.

"Just some girl in my class, 'cause I wanted to. Her parents were out and I knew it, so..." I let myself trail off, feeling disgusted with myself. I knew I hadn't done it obviously, but I was bragging about it regardless. To make myself seem hard, to try and make sure I survived, but it didn't make me feel any better. I still felt like a bastard. Damian remained as impassive as ever. "And I nearly got away with it too. They had nothing to go other than circumstantial evidence," I added. At least that part was true. Being a hard man is all good, but being clever is good too. I wanted people to know I was not one to be fucked with,but I also wasn't planning to go around picking fights.

In the Facility, the key was to try not to be the big I-am, but to also let people know that you were a tough bastard that could handle yourself.


	3. Armed With Hate

The Correctional Facility

Chapter Three

Armed With Hate

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My meals with Kevin and Damian became a regular thing. I started to consider them my friends, although I still knew what they were like. Simply because someone's your friend doesn't mean you're blind to the way they are.

Also, my cell mate was absent. I had a cell to myself. I figured that wouldn't last and that they'd soon throw someone else in next to me to save space. I wasn't worried about it, though. Even if I got landed with a total psychopath, I was confident I could take them. Even if they were a better fighter than I, I could always attack them in their sleep. I was confident.

And I also witnessed another of Jameson's beatings. This time it was a grey that stepped out of line. He spat in Jameson's face, so he got the boy in a choke hold and then systematically broke all of the fingers on his right hand. He didn't stop screaming for a while after it.

Jameson wasn't the highest ranked in the Facility, but he was the worst. He had all of the guards under his authority, and he could do whatever he liked. And he liked hurting the inmates.

However, I also got to meet the Warden. His name was Gilligan. He was an older man who wore a black suit, with greying hair and a short, solid build. This guy had absolute power in the Facility. Most of the time, he left things up to Jameson because he considered him reliable and effective, but I found out that he would occasionally step in himself when something really bad happened.

This time, an inmate had blinded a guard who tried to pick on him. Gilligan made it clear that if anyone ever injured a guard like that again, even in self defense, he would make sure they left the building in a body bag. As far as Gilligan was concerned, if a guard tried to give you a beating for no reason, you were to just take it or he would make sure you regretted it. The thing is, no one doubted Gilligan.

Gilligan wasn't like Jameson. Jameson was big, strong and solid, all anger and fire. Gilligan was cold and clinical, a businessman.

Anyway, this was another few days later and it was during work. Work consisted of many different tasks. It was just pretty much whatever needed done, we had to do. It was pretty much slave labor to make Gilligan some extra cash.

Today, we were sawing logs. We had been put in pairs for this work, since a two man saw made it quicker. My partner was a boy named Cornelius West. Corneil, for short. He was in the Facility for - believe it or not - dealing arms. He was older than us - sixteen years old. He was a tall, lean, coffee colored guy with no hair. He had a sort of passive face that I didn't imagine showed very much emotion very often. Still, he was making sure the job got done, as was I, so everyone was happy.

I was sweating like a beast, as was Corneil. As were Damian and Kevin, who were sawing next to us. It was a hot day and this was hard work. Exercise had been not that long ago. We were also all in dire need of a drink. Really, what I wouldn't have done for teaspoonful of water. I would do things that got you put in places like this just for that.

Just when I thought I was going to die of exhaustion, the guards gave the instruction to stop. We lined up single file and waited for the guards to let us out. Dinner was next. Hardly enjoyable, but better than working. Then again, what was ever enjoyable in the Facility?

"Hey," I heard someone whisper behind me. I turned my head. Shit. Phil was there. Medium height, a solid, but not heavy build, much like myself. A sharp, somewhat rat like face that was regardless not unattractive, and a medium brown buzz cut. He snapped his head forward and hit me in the cheek with his forehead. Shit, I was bleeding. I hissed and suppressed a cry of pain. Fuck. I turned my head and faced forward once again, trying not to wince.

"You fucker," I hissed at him so that no one else would hear. I could practically feel him smirking smugly at the back of my head. He was smart. He had done it so quickly and subtly that no one had actually noticed the strike.

So, with a bleeding cheek, I walked to the cafeteria behind Kevin, who was behind Damian. I joined my two friends at the first free table we came to and Corneil sat down with us. Corneil was a serious criminal. Even for a black, this guy was a serious threat, so he usually sat with four other big time criminals at their own little table. I mean, he wasn't just a violent psycho like Kevin, he was an arms dealer. An honest to God arms dealer. Two of his friends worked with heroin - one in production, one in distribution. Another was into making and selling child porn. The fourth was a fucking hired killer. He had actually bought weapons from Corneil before either of them had been put in the Facility. These guys were real big shots, yet Corneil decided to sit with us.

The food was already on the table so we all started eating. Again, I ate mechanically, like it wasn't the worst tasting edible substance I had ever come across.

Corneil sat with us and just made small talk for a while. With him, I was expecting conversation to revolve around guns and violence, kind of like the way it did with Kevin sometimes, but I was wrong. He talked about his family and asked about our lives. He was surprisingly nice.

Corneil came from a family of guys. He had an older brother, a younger and a father. His mother had died just after giving birth to his younger brother. He said it was a car crash. His dad was just an honest, humble, blue collar kind of guy. He was a police officer. His big brother was a clever, ambitious, ruthless kind of guy. He had somehow managed to secure a position in the Oak Lab in Kanto, which was no small feat. His little brother didn't have the tough streak that Corneil or his older brother did. No, he a nice kid. Corneil said he was soft. I could tell from the way he talked about his little brother that he was close to him. And protective of him. God help anyone that laid a hand on that kid. How the middle child had managed to turn out so differently from his police officer father, academic older brother and gentle younger brother was, according to Corneil, just a matter of opportunity.

Kevin mostly talked about the stupid, illegal shit that he had done with friends and stuff. He wasn't bragging about the atrocities that they had committed though. No, this time it was just stupid shit. Like one time, they had spray painted a, well, let's call it a phallus, on the side of a train. And another time, Kevin had gotten drunk with a cousin of his called Gregor and the two of them picked a fight with a wild Machoke. Suffice to say it was not a good idea. He didn't seem to avoid family stuff, it's just that he sort of skipped over it like he didn't find it particularly interesting.

Damian didn't talk about family. No, he steered well clear of that topic. He talked a lot about school, and he talked fondly of it. He was close to a number of teachers and took part in numerous clubs so he could stay in school later. He clearly didn't want to go home. He talked a lot about his friends, but wouldn't name them for one reason or another. From what I got, he was pretty much the class ace in every non-practical class but had a right laugh in those classes anyway. One of those lucky fuckers that can ace a class with minimal effort.

Me? I talked about a bit of everything. My boring family, friends, school, even sometimes dipping into stupid shit we had done. My friends and I could rival Kevin and co for stupid shit. We once used a bungee cord to join two cars together, and padlocked them on. Another time we threw a dumpster lid from a building and it landed on a car. Then there was the time we pissed in water balloons and started throwing them in the supermarket. We were terrors, but we never got caught. Good times.

Eventually, Corneil left us and went back to his usual friends. He said it had been good talking to us and that we were a good laugh and all the rest of it, then left.

"Well. He seemed nice enough," I said to the other two.

"Nice enough sell lethal weapons," Damian commented dryly. "I'm away to the bathroom," he added, getting up and leaving.

"And he could rip most people in this place apart," Kevin said to me, referring to Corneil. "I could take him, but he'd put up a hell of a fight," he went on. Someone that Kevin Shields considered a good fighter really was someone that you wanted to stay away from.

I would have replied, but I heard footsteps. Through all the noise in the cafeteria, I heard footsteps, and they were coming in my direction. Kevin's eyes flickered to behind me, and I heard the footsteps stop. There was someone behind me and I had a good idea who it was and what he was up to. I gripped the edges of tray, stood, spun around and hit Phil across the face with it. Stainless steel. Ouch.

He hit the floor with one hand clutching just above his eye. There was a gash there, he was bleeding a bit. He stayed on the floor a few seconds before he found the strength to stand up. He had smeared the blood all down the side of his face and he was looking pissed. Quicker than I would have thought possible, a circle had formed around us. Phil's fists were up at his face, ready to fight. I did likewise.

Phil could fight. I managed to get a cheap shot in last time, but this would be different. This time he was ready. This time, I wasn't sure if I could take him. I would sure as hell try, though.

Some guy ran at me. I wasn't expecting it, and would probably have lost the fight if he had reached me. Fortunately, Kevin stepped in. He speed vaulted the table he was sitting at and punched this guy straight in the nose while he was running. He sort of twisted from the force of the blow and fell to the steel floor. The punch had sent blood splattering onto a few of the people nearest. Kevin dragged the whimpering guy away.

I saw someone else start to run at me while Kevin was occupied, but Corneil came out of nowhere, grabbed him from behind, twisted one arm behind his back, bent him over the nearest table, pulled his fist back and punched him in the back of the shoulder. The shoulder that was against the table, and also the shoulder that was bent at an awkward angle from having his arm twisted behind his back. I heard a crack and a scream.

Then Phil's first punch hit me. It was a haymaker. A wild, powerful, but by no means slow swing. I felt blood in my mouth, maybe something else too. I'm not sure. I could feel pain in my mouth and that was the main thing. I hit the ground just as quickly as Phil had when I hit him with my tray, if not quicker. Phil was by no means weak. He wasn't a gorilla like Kevin, but nor was he a stick insect like Damian. He was in between, like me. His punches, though, were lethal and seemed like the should belong to someone much bigger or stronger. He was no laughing matter.

While on the floor, he swung his foot at me. I was expecting it, though. He kicked me in the stomach. It hurt. Not as much as the time 601 had pretty much stomped on me, so not incapacitating, but it hurt. When he did it, though, I managed to wrap my left arm around his foot, trapping it. While he tried to pull his foot free of my grip, I punched him the side of the knee with my right hand. It hurt my hand, but it hurt his knee more. He gave a cry of pain and one hand went to his knee. I punched again, this time hitting a different part of his knee - a part that his hand wasn't clutching.

Maybe I had a chance.

He fell onto his hands and knees, over me, horizontally. I was on my back. I put one hand on the back of his head and swiped his hands away with my other hand. His hands were keeping him up, so as I swiped them away with one hand, I pushed his head down with the other. His face smacked the steel floor, hard. Broken nose. He was now lying across me, unable to keep himself up. I gripped the back of his t-shirt with my hands and started tugging while kneeing him in the stomach and chest until I managed to throw the dead weight off of me.

I stood up and started laying into him. I brought my right foot back and swung it forward,into his throat. His eyes went wide, he wheezed and clutched his throat. I brought my foot back again and kicked him in the face. The eye, specifically. He'd have one hell of a shiner for the foreseeable future, but his throat was still his main concern. in fact, he hardly seemed to notice the kick in the face. I brought my foot back again and swung it forward. My kick cuaght him right in the balls. That, he noticed.

He could hardly breathe and he was curled into a little ball of agony. My work was done.

"Showers, go!" I heard a guard shout. Everyone cleared out in double time. A couple of Phil's friends picked him up and carried him off, presumably towards the showers. Or maybe to the infirmary if he needed it. I didn't know, nor did I care.

I was one of the last ones left in the cafeteria. I was tired. My face hurt. I needed a minute. I could afford to rest for a minute before guards would notice. Only a handful of others remained in the cafeteria with me. I was really too busy being tired, sore, triumphant and happy to really care. Well, that was until two guys walked out of the bathroom together. I recognized them immediately. 397 and 601. Known friends of Phil, also two that had attacked me. They strolled past me, smug expressions on their faces. I didn't notice until after they had passed that they had blood on their knuckles.

I got up and made my way to the bathrooms.

"Hey!" I shouted before I entered. No response. No, wait, there was a groan. I took a deep breath and walked in. There was someone on the floor. A black. Well, a black and red really, they were covered in blood. I didn't notice until they rolled over that it was Damian.


End file.
